


The Past Tense of 'Tweet' is 'Twat'

by tawg



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Texts From Last Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 08:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone Jensen knows has a twitter account, and they are all determined to scar him for life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Past Tense of 'Tweet' is 'Twat'

Jensen had much preferred life before every single person he knew got a twitter account. Because it wasn’t enough that they had them, they expected him to _read_ them. And to that end, every single person he knew with a twitter account (Every. Single. One) felt the need to make it _easy_ for him to keep up with the “crazy new young people technology”. They texted him their tweets. They e-mailed him. They rang him up at four am and read them aloud in that slow, halting voice people use when they’re reading as they type.

That said, Jensen had preferred the twitter-torment before the beginning of the Mishaleki reign. Now he had to deal with people ringing him up at four am to read out their hen-pecked tweets about which part of Misha was getting groped on what item of previously un-sexed-on furniture. Jensen was running out of things in Jared’s house that were safe to touch. And then there was the media. Oh jesus, the freaking sheer multitude of media that people could shove up on twitter. And, in turn, use to spam Jensen to the point of e-mail attachment induced homicide.

Things that he never, ever needed to see pictures of _ever_ included: Misha in lingerie, Jared doing anything with a sex toy (even looking at one speculatively was out after the image with the latex tentacle with the suction cup at the base and Jared looking speculatively and Jensen did NOT need to know that people who were his FRIENDS and people he WORKED with were speculating about TENTACLES and whether suction cups would stick to the walls of their freaking TRAILERS which were at WORK where Jensen was all the time being professional and COULD MISHA JUST KEEP HIS DICK OUT OF JENSEN’S TRAILER, PLEASE?). Any picture involving both Jared and Misha was automatically out.

Alona had even gotten him by giving her e-mails un-tweeting titles like “Important health update, I may not make the next con” and “Think this would make a good Xmas gift for Rob?” (Answer: no. A thousand times no. Do not give a picture of Misha doing anything affectionate to Jared’s dogs to anyone as a present. Misha always looks creepy and you will be arrested for supplying some kind of illegal dog-loving materials.) Jim, even JIM had jumped on the bandwagon. It’s like there was some kind of totally not funny “Make Jensen want to SCRATCH OUT HIS EYES” competition going on.

And then Jeff, Jeff that freaking TRAITOR had to go and ring Jensen up in the middle of a nice, normal family lunch. A Sunday lunch! He’d had his mobile switched off! He should have been _safe_. But no, Jeffery Dean Morgan had gone and rung the home phone, and left a message on the answering machine, so his previously friendly rumble had come out over the speaker (and why should Jensen have to turn off the speaker function of his answering machine _just_ so he can have lunch with his parents? WHY?).

“Misha updated his twitter,” Jeff said, sending Jensen leaping for the power cord but he was too slow, always too slow to keep twitter from ruining his life. “ _’We're going to shave my junk and take pictures of it wearing fake mustaches’_ (though he spelt that wrong) _‘we found at the dollar store.’_ ” Jensen slid to a stop on his linoleum kitchen floor, his hands clapped over his eyes as if that could ever stop the mental images. But, of course, that wasn’t all...

“ _’They're uncannily realistic;’_ ” Jeff continued, his voice thick with amusement, “ _’much better than the cockstaches of my youth.’_ ”

Jensen was just quick enough to pick up the phone, yell “I hate you,” down the line, and violently hang up. There would be pictures, he knew. There would always be pictures. He was going to have to delete his e-mail account. It would be the only way. He could get an old phone that didn’t accept multimedia messages. He could just never go to a convention ever again. Or open a Christmas card. Fuck it, after this, EVERYONE was off his Christmas card list. No cards for anyone this year! Christmas cards are only for _friends_.

Jensen had no friends, just twitter-dicks who ruinated his life.


End file.
